Thus all his plots still failing in th’euent,
Preuented by heau’n’s all foreseeing eye,
A thousand mischiefes now he gan inuent,
Inuasion, outrage, murder, treacherie,
Sounding the depths of all iniquitie;
For all blacke deedes his vice-blackt thoughts could find,
He turn’d and return’d in his vengefull minde.
61.
Vpon his furrowed front, the signes of ire,
Furie and rage, did sit like lowring night,